The carpenters and sailors, as such men will, brought their own manners, their point of view with them and stoutly maintained them. They were strong, tough-fibred men, more inclined to teach than to learn from their strange experience. The first Sunday afternoon Timothy and Hugh went out together for a stroll in the country. They met a Sicilian riding a donkey; he was followed by an old woman whom they guessed to be his grandmother, carrying on her head a large box and a small keg. “See that big man, so proud looking, with those two baskets of lemons loaded on to that poor jackass’s back; his little legs are bending under him,” said Timothy. “Such treatment as they give the jackass should not be allowed,” Hugh agreed. “The Italians certainly are a hard lot.” “It’s Gasperone!” cried Timothy. “Hullo you!” roared Hugh. “Get right off that donkey and let the old lady ride; do you hear?” Hugh, a blond giant, in a white linen jumper and breeches, white canvas cap and puttees, black shoes and neckerchief, impressed the grandmother of Gasperone. She stopped and stood staring at him, her skinny arms akimbo, her feet firmly planted in the road. He was pleasant to look at, this strange man from the north, with his frank blue eyes, his yellow hair, his rough kindly voice. She was not too old (what woman is?) to take notice of a handsome young man. “Get down!” ordered Hugh. “Awe ri’, awe ri’,” Gasperone answered soothingly, then said something to the old woman. She laid her load down and, laughing heartily, seated herself on the donkey. “Now make a beast o’ burthen o’ your fat self, and see how you like it,” Hugh commanded. “Awe ri’!” Gasperone took upon his back, awkwardly enough, the load his grandmother had so skilfully balanced on her head. The two Americans watched the couple out of sight round the corner. Brofferio, who saw the whole scene from the launch--he was on his way to the Italian warship, “Dandolo”--declares that as soon as they were out of sight the grandmother dismounted and Gasperone returned to the donkey’s back. The “Hern” was the second timber ship to arrive. Her Norwegian captain’s wife was on board; Captain Belknap mentions her presence as if it were a fortunate and happy thing. “When I beheld a most beautiful young lady in a boat making for the shore,” Timothy was heard confiding to Hugh, “blushing like a June morning in Indiana, I went and got a hair-cut and a shave.” “She certainly is a charming person,” Hugh agreed; “goodness is shining from her eyes.” “They tell over to the ‘Hern’ that she came on board at Algiers, and that the captain has been like a boy with a new sled ever since,” Timothy continued, “which strengthens my belief in the captain’s wife’s goodness.” One of the Sicilians, who had applied for work as a carpenter and proved utterly unfit for it, had now, with Belknap’s encouragement, set up a barber’s saloon close to the camp. After the “Hern’s” arrival he was much patronized.